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There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Done
Crosses
Tears
Duty
Thousand
Christian
Vale
May
Seasoned
Wells
Cheerfulness
Well
Outward

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And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and grey.
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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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Knowledge forbidden? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that? Can it be sin to know, Can it be death? And do they only stand By ignorance? Is that their happy state, The proof of their obedience and their faith? O fair foundation laid whereon to build Their ruin!
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.
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Hide me from day's garish eye.
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Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
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Farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear
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Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.
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And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
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Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/With loss of Eden, till one greater Man/Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,/Sing heavenly muse
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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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The Tree of Knowledge grew fast by, Knowledge of Good bought dear by knowing ill.
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Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar.
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